‘So he appears from this side of the door.’ Michaelo watched with interest as Chaucer glanced back toward the entrance to the hall. He sensed in the man an unease. He ignored Chaucer’s attempts at chatter, returning to his contemplation of the garden.
Antony grew serious. ‘The prince is aware that the citizens of York look to you for protection. He encourages you to accept the position. Pleasing the worthies of the city is all to His Grace’s advantage. We are establishing a foothold to watch the Nevilles, and they are certain to put some effort in influencing the mayor and his council. The dean and chapter as well. You are the perfect mediator and spy.’
Owen agreed, but he had not anticipated the prince’s encouragement. ‘How is it that I am so trusted by His Grace?’
‘You have my lady to thank for that. You remind her of her first husband Thomas Holland, a brilliant soldier and a most honorable man.’ Antony laughed. ‘So, you see? We are not sparring. What you propose is much to His Grace’s liking. Now come, sit, my friend. I have much to tell you. It was no accident that I traveled here in the company of Neville’s secretary.’ As Antony replenished their mazers, he expressed his delight that they would be working together.
‘So you will be my contact?’ Owen asked.
‘Either me or Sir Lewis Clifford, whom you have met. And respected, am I right?’
He was indeed.
‘Neither John Holland nor his elder brother are involved. Indeed, considering that Crispin Poole was in John Holland’s service, and would yet be there, doing his nasty work, had it not been for the loss of his arm – well, I advised His Grace that we might regret his involvement.’
Holland and Poole. ‘I am glad to know of that connection. Is that why Chaucer was so interested in Poole?’
‘He did not tell you? So he can hold his tongue when ordered. I am glad that is so. Holland let Poole go the moment he ruined his career as an assassin. Nevertheless …’ Antony smiled at Owen. ‘Clifford and I both regard you as an excellent judge of men.’
Owen began to protest. He had made his share of mistakes, tragic ones. But Antony waved away his argument.
‘We are none of us gods, Owen.’
The hall was quiet, so much so that Michaelo heard his cousin Leufrid greeting Brother Oswald on the lawn.
‘I pray you did not invite Dom Leufrid to attend us here,’ he said, moving toward Chaucer with murder on his mind.
The man rose, hands up as if ordering Michaelo to halt where he was. ‘Captain Archer planned this. I merely carried out his orders. I was to escort him, but the man hired a chair to carry him here.’
A chair. God help him. Michaelo stopped close to Chaucer, looking down at him. ‘If you are lying to me, you will regret it.’
‘Then I have nothing to worry about. But why do you so despise your cousin?’
‘He is a thief. He betrayed me in order to line his purse with my family’s silver.’
‘Yet without him you would never have served as secretary to Archbishop Thoresby. Nor would you now serve Captain Archer.’
‘Like the phoenix, I rose from the ashes. But that does not exonerate the one who threw me on the pyre.’
The creak of the heavy oak door heralded the arrival of Brother Oswald, Dom Leufrid close on his heels. Michaelo smirked to see the result of his cousin’s appetites, so corpulent as to prevent his arms from hanging at ease as he entered the hall, the movement something between a waddle and a trundle. How appropriate that Leufrid’s greed would be his ruin. No wonder he’d hired a chair. Never a comely man, his wide, flat nose was now lost in his pillowing cheeks accentuating his overlarge nostrils, and his eyes seemed beady in the midst of so much flesh. The hair round his tonsure was so thin as to seem a mere suggestion. And his habit. Michaelo wrinkled his nose at the soiled hem – of course the man could not see it, he’d likely not seen his feet for years, his belly protruded so far. It was difficult not to laugh as Michaelo stepped forward, bowing to Leufrid in welcome.
‘We meet again, cousin.’
‘Michaelo?’ The frog turned to glare at Chaucer. ‘What is this? I was told I would be meeting with Master Antony.’
‘That is correct,’ said Chaucer. ‘He is presently meeting with Captain Archer, an old friend. Brother Michaelo is the captain’s scribe.’
Scribe. Michaelo was more than a scribe. But this was not the time to argue the point.
‘I will return at another time.’ Leufrid turned round, startling Brother Oswald, who stood close behind, watching with interest.
Chaucer stepped to block Leufrid’s way. ‘Master Antony wished you to meet his friend. He will be most disappointed should you miss this opportunity.’
‘Meet him? To what purpose?’
‘He will explain that. I pray you, sit.’ Chaucer looked up at the hospitaller. ‘Might we have some wine while we wait?’ He stepped over and knocked thrice on the door.
When the signal came, Antony was just telling Owen that John Gisburne had paid a visit to Neville’s secretary, attempting to besmirch Crispin Poole, offering to provide him with a better spy in the city.
‘But Dom Leufrid informed me – he dined at the abbot’s table yesterday – that he is pleased with Poole, particularly his connection with you. Though having heard your tale I wonder at his impression of a bond. It would seem the new archbishop hopes to learn much from Thoresby’s spy.’ A grin. ‘Much we might learn from him.’
‘It could be of use,’ said Owen. ‘And now, if I might introduce you to the man who will be writing to you, and traveling with me as my scribe, Brother Michaelo.’
A raised eyebrow. ‘The late archbishop’s personal secretary?’
‘The same.’
‘An excellent choice.’
‘I also asked Chaucer to send for Dom Leufrid.’
‘To alert him to your new role?’ Antony nodded.
‘Not only that.’ Owen explained the tense relationship between the former archbishop’s secretary and the present one.
‘Pray, spare their lives, call them in at once.’
17
A New Beginning
Lucie studied the handsome man standing in her doorway, tall as her husband and with a similar temperament, it seemed. His elegant robes warmed the entryway, and a subtle smell of spice added to his exotic presence. His eyes were warm, his voice deep and rich, and his smile began from his heart – one not only saw it, but felt a deep sense of well being.
‘How shall I address you?’ she asked. ‘Master Antony?’
‘Perhaps Dom Antony,’ he said, bowing over Lucie’s hand. ‘I am master of none.’
‘You are most welcome in our home, Dom Antony. Might I introduce you to the children?’
‘I was hoping they would be present. I want to meet all your family, Dame Lucie.’
Shy at first, Gwen and Hugh quickly warmed to Antony, taking his hands and giving him a tour of the garden. Owen put his arm round Lucie and watched them moving along the paths.
‘He has been eager to see it, though you will be a better guide. And he wants to see your shop as well, learn all about your physicks.’
‘Is that how you first became friends? Discussing healing herbs in the camps?’
Owen seemed surprised by the question, but then admitted that is what they discussed in the beginning. ‘He also wishes to meet Magda.’
‘She has agreed to join us for dinner, though she insists Alisoun remain in the kitchen, resting for her short journey home to the river house on the morrow.’
Owen grinned. ‘It is a good thing, to have Antony here.’
Seeing Owen’s contentment, Lucie let go the months of worry over what the future might hold without John Thoresby. At last she could let her mind settle on her day-to-day concerns.